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A Frenchman may be an unkind husband, a severe parent, or an arrogant master, yet never contract his features, or asperate his voice, and for this reason is, in the national sense, "un homme bien doux." His heart may become corrupt, his principles immoral, and his disposition ferocious yet he shall still retain his equability of tone and complacent phraseology, and be "un homme bien aimable."
He would put the book face downwards on his knee and pucker his brows. "Mon Dieu, ma cherie, what do you want me to say?" "That you love me." "I've just said it." "Say it again." "Je l'aime bien. Voila!" "And that's all?" "Of course it's all. What remains to be said?" The honest fellow was mystified. He could not keep on repeating the formula for the two or three hours of their repose.
At length the dance was at an end, And a waltz was once more called, and having done my duty, I thought I might slip out between the acts; so I offered to hand my solid armful to her seat "Certainement vouz pouvez bien restez encore un moment."
"C'est vrai," I heard murmur in his chosen language, the Hadji, who had saved the situation. "C'etait une idee tres bien pour un duffer." Never had the Enchantress Isis looked so enchanting to my eyes as she looked that night.
He quotes with glee the author's complacent record that she was compared to Moliere by the Parisians, and that she had seen in a 'poetry-book' the following lines: After the soup she took an opportunity of praising the cook, of whom she had heard much. "Eh bien," says Rothschild, laughing, as well he might, "he on his side has also relished your works, and here is a proof of it."
"I mean, Monsieur, that I lost the bravest and truest and most generous friend that ever man had, when John Meavy died. And that dose of Prussic Acid should properly have gone to me, whose fault it all was, instead of to him, so innocent. Eh, bien, Monsieur! his lot was the happiest, after all." "But Cornelia?" said I, after a pause.
As I stood lost in admiration of this drawing, I heard a rough voice behind me: "C'est bien beau, n'est pas?" It was Claude Monet. "Yes, isn't it superb?" I answered. "I wonder how much they'll sell it for." "I'll soon find out that," said Monet, and turning to the attendant he asked the question. "Pour vous, sept cents cinquante francs." "C'est bien; il est a moi."
"I it was nothing." Her lashes fell, and dull color flushed through her countenance. "Between friends," the Duke suggested, "there should be no reservations." "But it is such a pitiably inartistic little history!" the Duchess protested. "Eh bien, if you must have it! For I was a girl once, an innocent girl, as given as are most girls to long reveries and bright, callow day-dreams.
"Ah, madame" Jeanne pointed to the mourning "you do not come to tell me he is dead?" Peggy smiled. "No. I hope not." "Ah!" Jeanne sighed in relief, "I thought " "This is for my husband," said Peggy quietly. "Ah, madame! je demande bien pardon. J'ai dû vous faire de la peine. Je n'y pensais pas " Jeanne was in great distress. Peggy smiled again. "Widows dress differently in England and France."
Sprawled half on and half off my paillasse, I looked suddenly up into a juvenile pimply face with a red tassel bobbing in its eyes. A boy in a Belgian uniform was stooping over me. In one hand a huge pail a third full of liquid slime. I said fiercely: "Au contraire, je veux bien." And collapsed on the mattress. "Pas de quart, vous?" the face fired at me.
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